Youth is but a stolen season

Youth is but a stolen season

Youth is but a stolen season traversed by ephemeral beings. A corrugated façade, a temporary building beheld only by rows of parked cars, bears witness to their flight. On that mute wall, tattered portraits depict the remnants of smiling faces, a once-proud pursuit, imbued as it was with confidence and hope. Yet time has undone that ‘global project’. Even without the bitter east wind or the driving rain, the shreds of the past scream of extremes, of joy and doubt, of frustration and dreams, of love and despair,… You adults who scurry, head down, to the nearby hypermarket, shopping list in hand, do you heed the cries of those transient young that you once were?

Gallery: Youth is but a stolen season

Click on any of the above photos to browse the gallery.

Sculptures and photos by Huguette and Alan McCluskey

Sculptures and photos by Huguette and Alan McCluskey

Sculptures by Huguette McCluskey-Cavin and photos and novels by Alan McCluskey at the Atelier du Ruau, Saint-Blaise, CH. Opening: Friday, December 7th from 4 to 7 pm.

Above is the official poster for our forthcoming exhibition. Sculptures by Huguette McCluskey-Cavin and photos by Alan McCluskey. At the Atelier du Ruau, ruelle des Voûtes, Saint-Blaise. December 8, 9, 14, 15, 21, 22 from 4pm to 7pm. Opening Friday, December 7th from 4 to 7 pm.

Ironically the sculpture I chose for the poster has already been sold and I decided to exhibit quite a different set of photos from this photo from my ‘water’ collection.  You will be able to peruse and acquire those earlier photos although they will not be on the walls of the Atelier du Ruau. 

For a foretaste of my photos see The Breath of Angels.

For details of my novels see Alan McCluskey’s novels.

The Breath of Angels

The sun seeps through tinted glass and arcs downwards causing dust motes to dance in the air only to settle softly across the aisle infusing life and light to time-worn stones. A host of angels glides silently through the church. Barely perceptible, their robes sway to the strains of the choir. Borne by youthful voices, they scatter colour with every step. When the last boys’ voices rise and fall away, a faint whisper lingers in the air like the caress of a fleeting kiss, the breath of angels.

Click on the thumbnail to view a larger image.

Photos 2018-04-14

Photos 2018-04-12

Photos 2018-04-10

Photos 2018-04-07

Photos 2018-04-06

Photos 2018-04-05

Photos – 2018-04-04